Juggling Masks
by ARaggedMuffin
Summary: Bruce Wayne has to keep up his playboy image, but sometimes finds it hard to forget he's not always the Batman... Pretty much fluff. T for sex references. Hints of Bruce/OC. One-shot.


**I wrote this during a four-hour car journey, to pass the time a little, so apologies if it's a bit crappy. Unbeta'd, because I'm still looking for a beta reader (anybody interested?).**

** I don't own Batman, etc.**

** Enjoy!**

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Bruce Wayne wore a mask every second of his life. One was black, bullet-proof, and adorned by a pair of spiked ears. The other was the face he was born with, and this was the mask he disliked having to wear.

Before him was a room full to the brim with the aristocrats of Gotham. The wealthy and the powerful had all congregated in this one room to rub shoulders, exchange pleasantries, and most importantly to smile through their teeth at Bruce Wayne in the hope of making yet another powerful friend. They did not wear their masks as well as Bruce did.

Alfred was at the door, greeting newcomers with warm smiles and champagne. He was barely noticed; everybody rushed past him, eager to meet and greet with the famous, handsome and exquisitely rich recluse, Bruce Wayne. Bruce did not like having to hold these parties, but Alfred often reminded him of his duty to uphold his parent's legacy, and one of the many things this duty entailed was to socialise beyond the scum of Gotham's underworld. And so, once a month, Bruce opened the doors of Wayne Manor and sent out invitations to the more wealthy of Gotham's citizens to come and share his wine and tell stories about what they had recently purchased with their vast fortunes.

Bruce quietly sidled over to Alfred during one of the rare moments of peace he received during these parties. 'How much longer do I have to let these people into my house?' He asked his butler.

Alfred smiled. 'Oh, a few hours yet I would think. Look, it isn't so hard. Find a pretty girl to hang on your arm, goodness knows they're practically lining up for you, smile and nod whenever someone talks to you, exchange phone numbers and make dinner dates as necessary, and you'll be fine.

'Now if you'll excuse me, somebody in the kitchens is putting too many cashews in the bowls of mixed nuts, and not enough peanuts. This must be dealt with at once.' At that, the butler turned and walked briskly away to the kitchens to deal with the dire nut situation. Bruce felt he should care, and yet he really _didn't._ He longed for nothing more than to don his cape and cowl and to feel the cold air against his face as he swung between the rooftops of Gotham, keen eyes searching the back alleys for signs of even the pettiest of crimes for him to stop. But there it was.

'Mr Wayne?' Came a woman's voice from behind him. Bruce turned to find himself facing somebody he did not recognise. She had long brown hair which hung loose down her back, and wore a red dress which fit tight, showing off her hourglass figure and displaying ample amounts of cleavage from her full breasts. Her eyes were deep brown and focused for just a second on Bruce's gold watch before looking back up at the billionaire. 'I was just, uh, wondering if you'd like to, well, dance. W-with me, of course.'

_Well, _Bruce thought. _Alfred _did _suggest a pretty girl, and they don't come much prettier…_ He gave her his most winning smile and offered her his hand. 'Of course.' She took it gratefully.

Together they moved swiftly onto the dance floor, joining the throng of other dancers, many of whom were already drunk or well on their way to being so.

'Are you from out of town?' Bruce asked as they moved slowly against one another. 'I think I'd remember a face like yours if you'd been to one of these parties before.'

The woman smiled appreciatively. 'Yes. I just came here from Keystone.' Again, her eyes flicked towards Bruce's wrist.

'Keystone?' Bruce repeated. 'I hear there was a string of burglaries there recently. Were you affected?'

'Thankfully not,' the woman said. 'The thief kept well away. I've got some good security.'

'When did you leave?'

'A month ago. Shortly after the spree ended I think.'

'I'm not an idiot.' Bruce sighed. _Why does every pretty girl I meet have to be a villain?_

'What do you mean?' The woman asked.

'You just came from a city suffering from a crime spree which ended the same time you left. You turn up at this party full of the richest people in Gotham in a dress clearly designed to distract,' the woman pulled her dress up a little, 'And the whole time we've been dancing you haven't been able to keep your eyes off my watch. You're a thief. What's your name?'

The woman wriggled from his grasp and hurried off angrily. Bruce sighed and turned away, then turned back as the click of her heels heralded her return. She now had a flute of champagne in her hand, which she promptly emptied into Bruce's face. 'I'll have you know that the thief was caught. It's a pretty watch. I'm proud of my body. My name is Catherine Johnson, Mr Wayne, and I'm as much a criminal as you are!'

At that, Catherine turned and stormed away, leaving Bruce wet, embarrassed and suddenly the subject of many sympathetic looks. 'Every time…' Came Alfred's muttering voice as the butler hurried forward with a cloth and began to dab at the champagne that was soaking into Bruce's shirt. Bruce began to make his way quickly towards the exit. 'Master Wayne, if you ever have any intention of gaining a woman's affections for real, it may be best _not _accuse her of being a criminal. Again.'

'I'm sorry, Alfred.' Said Bruce as he walked out of the door into the cold air and dark of night, the butler hurrying along behind him, damp cloth still in hand. 'It's hard switching personas sometimes. Often I find it hard to forget I'm not always Batman.'

'Then perhaps, Master Wayne, it's time to start focusing on one life, before people begin to grow suspicions about how Bruce Wayne really spends his life.'

'Be Batman permanently? Alfred, even I couldn't do that.'

Alfred sighed. Bruce just didn't get it. 'Look, sir. Do me a favour. Tonight, just for one night, try to avoid any heroics. Just stay in your manor, entertain your guests, and spend the rest of the night with a pretty girl. For once, think with your cock.'

Bruce raised his eyebrows at his manservant's blunt manner with regards to whom Bruce brought into his bed, but Alfred showed no signs of joking.

'Fine.' Bruce conceded. He turned back to the house, and hurried back up the steps with a mind to make up with Miss Johnson… in full.

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**Apologies if everyone's a bit OOC. The whole point of this fic revolved around two things: Bruce mistakenly thinking someone's a criminal, and finding a way to get Alfred to say 'Think with your cock' (it amuses me to read that in Michael Caine's voice).**

** I think I like one-shots. They cater well to my short attention span.**

** Review please, it's a fanfic writer's only salary.**


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